Perhaps
by Elise May
Summary: Time stops when I am with you.


Perhaps it's the guilt. The guilt that stems from more than one incident. There's Robert. Of course there's Robert; there's always Robert. Waiting, never leaving her head. But it's more than that. It's the fire and the shoulder she could cry on. It's August and a smile and an intervention. _She's not you_ and _I want you here. With me._ October, and she feels normal. November, and she is beginning to think that she really is. Or could be, at the very least.

There's the guilt of asking a man to marry her - a good man, the best man - and expecting him to buy her a ring, to give her the world. His world.

He's hers.

She likes to think her actions are born out of love - and deep down, they are. But his birthday was forgotten about and she never took him out or bought him anything special. They didn't do anything at all. Where would they have found the time? She feels more guilty about it now than she ever did when she first forgot, is desperate to make it up to him despite his insistence that none of it really matters. But, of course, it all does. Now, more than ever.

The pain in her arm is constant, but she manages to persuade Michelle to take her into town. She's more sentimental than she likes to let on and what she buys, she buys with a genuineness Michelle frowns at. And it doesn't annoy Carla. Not really. After all, she has reason to be suspicious; to be sceptical.

A week passes and the day arrives. The closer it got, the more anxious she became. Sometimes, she forgets that it's Nick who she is engaged to. What she'll be receiving won't be the last drag of a cigarette or dreg of some sort of alcoholic beverage, an afterthought after the night has long since finished. It won't be anything flash or overly expensive. He probably won't buy her anything at all. He'll claim he wants to save for the wedding and that's okay. She doesn't want, or need, anything from him.

She's not sure her heart could take it.

Not the toast he uses a template to cut that he brings to her in the morning, along with the smile he presses to hers. Not the rose pet2als he lays upon their bed as she attempts to shower herself, the card in which he calls her _my love_. Refers to _our forever._

She waits until after their leisurely late and long lunch has passed before she presents him with his gift. She had it wrapped in the shop, obviously incapable of doing it herself. The box is blue and the ribbon black, his name sewn onto it using some sort of white thread. The cost hasn't really been considered. What she's bought isn't cheap and he knows it.

Nick stares at the box for a long while before he goes to unwrap it. He's touched. He's very close to being speechless and he finds himself thanking her for it before even discovering what it is she has bought for him.

Carla smiles shyly, her head bowed slightly as she says, "Think of it as a thank you, a sorry, I love you, and happy birthday."

A deep exhale leaves him as the box is unwrapped and opened to reveal a watch made of silver, a real leather strap and a label poking from the cushion on which it is sat, reading, _Turn me over!_ The note has been written by her hand, the one she is still able to properly use and it hurts him. A good hurt that she would go to such effort.

Carefully taking the watch into his hands, he turns it over and what she has had engraved onto the back of the watch's face not only takes words from him, but also breath. His hand shakes as he runs a finger over the inscription.

 _Time stops when I am with you. Love you always, Carla x_

"I love you." It is all he can manage to say. His smile is brilliant and it matches hers, her relieved smile she buries into his neck as he moves in to hug her as tightly as he can get away with without adding too much pressure to her injuries.

"I love you n'all," she says, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Come on, then. Put it on. I would offer to help, but..." She wiggles her fingers that are restricted by her caste.

Chuckling, he lets go of her to do just that and she grins to find that it fits him. It fits him perfectly. Brushing her nose against his, she welcomes his deep kiss and clings to him as best she can. She doesn't want to leave him tomorrow. Doesn't want to be taken by Michelle to a five star hotel with weddings here, there and everywhere; rooms that will only serve as a reminder to her of what she has done so terribly wrong. She doesn't want to be taken from _him_ , in all honesty. His willingness to help, the stability he provides her with. Her constant. The support. The words of encouragement, the mags to keep her from boredom. The food that he makes and the baths that he runs and the reminders that she would be lost without.

She's selfish.

She knows that she is selfish. Her selfishness is the reason for her constant sickness, that feeling of dread that never leaves her stomach. That unwillingness to enter a room when she knows who is in it. But it's worth it. She deludes herself into thinking it is so. This is better than the alternative; any alternative.

She feels Nick's fingers in her hair and she knows that she cannot lose him. She can't risk it - or, rather, she doesn't want to.

He pulls away from her, smiles, and says, "Happy Valentine's Day, sweetheart."

She moves a hand to cup his face and says the same in return. "Happy Valentine's Day."


End file.
